Page 3 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

"I know."

The quiet that comes feels heavy, as though both of us sense something approaching that neither can see yet.

"Get some rest," Gideon finally sighs.

"You too," I say.

I leave the harbor and begin the climb toward the lighthouse, the town growing quieter behind me. Warm lights glow from cottage windows where families gather around dinner tables, laughter occasionally drifting into the night air. Life, community, belonging—always close enough to touch, yet somehow out of reach.

The lighthouse stands waiting atop the cliffs when I return, steady and reliable, much like its keeper. I climb the stairs onto the observation balcony and watch Moonhaven spread beneath me—the harbor, the streets, the homes, the people I've protected for years. I've repaired their wards, healed their injuries, guided their boats through storms, and answered every call, yet sometimes I wonder if any of it will ever be enough.

The wind brushes my face. Far out at sea, the unnatural fog still lingers, watching and waiting, and a chill runs through me.

The storm may have passed, but something tells me the real trouble is only beginning.

Below, Moonhaven sleeps peacefully beneath the lighthouse beam, and I watch over the town as I always do, loving a place that has never quite learned how to love me back.

2

FINN

The road into Moonhaven looks smaller than I remember, and maybe that's what happens when you leave a place behind and spend years chasing storms. Distances change. Landmarks shrink. The things that once felt permanent become surprisingly ordinary.

The ocean doesn't.

The moment I catch sight of the harbor below, something tightens in my chest. The fishing docks, the narrow streets, the lighthouse standing watch from the cliffs—some things remain exactly where you left them.

I lower the truck window and let the salt air rush inside, the scent hitting harder than expected. Sea water, rain, wood, home.

I never planned on staying long. My mother needs help with the boathouse, and that's the reason I came back. Once things are stable, I'll decide what comes next.

The truck rattles over the final stretch of road before the familiar shape of Blackwater Boathouse comes into view, sitting by the harbor exactly as it always has, though the paint is newer and the roof repaired. But it's still home.

I kill the engine and climb out. The front door opens before I reach it, and my mother steps outside. For a moment, neither of us moves. Her hair carries more silver than before, new lines around her eyes, yet she looks exactly like herself—steady, strong, impossible to fool.

"You got taller."

I stare at her, then laugh. "That's your opening?"

My mother shrugs. "I had to find something to complain about."

My laugh comes easier this time as I cross the remaining distance and pull her into a hug. She wraps her arms around me immediately, and the embrace lasts longer than either of us acknowledges. When she finally steps back, her eyes shine suspiciously.

"I told myself I wasn't going to cry."

"You aren't crying."

"Good," she says, wiping beneath one eye. "Neither am I."

I nudge her, "You've gotten worse at lying."

"I've had less practice," she replies, and the smile she gives me softens something I didn't realize I was carrying.

For years, our conversations happened through phone calls and holiday visits that never lasted long enough. Standing here feels different. Real.

She reaches for my arm and squeezes. "I'm glad you're home."

The words settle heavily between us. Home. I stare at the harbor. "I'm still figuring that part out."